by Wesley Chu
Shura studied her, shrugged and turned away. “No.”
“Let them go or you will never get my cooperation.”
“I’ll just kill you and Io will find another vessel, one less belligerent.”
“These are Io’s wishes,” said Ella.
That gave Shura pause. “I don’t believe you. Why would Io care one way or another if the Prophus live or die?”
“Because I care, and Io wishes this. If you do not listen to her, then she knows you cannot be trusted,” said Ella, with as much conviction as she could muster. “Io and I are one, and that is the price I demanded to follow her to the Genjix, and she accepted.”
Shura walked over to Ella and looked into her eyes. Ella stared back defiantly. Both knew the bond a Quasing and their host could possess. The question was, was Shura willing to gamble on the strength of Ella’s bond with Io? Anyone who spent more than a few minutes with either Ella or Io would know that answer.
Fortunately, Shura had never bothered to take the time. “Very well,” she said finally. “It isn’t like any of these Prophus are of high value. At least, not any longer.” She signaled to the yakuza. “Tie them up and let them go. Let the police deal with them. If we’re lucky, they will finish this job.”
When they were done, Shura led Ella and the remnants of the yakuza into the mountains away from the base. As they reached the crest of the hill outside the base perimeter, Ella paused and looked back as clusters of lights swarmed around the transport. She wondered if her sacrifice was for naught.
“Come, girl,” said Shura, beckoning to her. “We have great things ahead of us.”
“Goodbye, Nabin.” Ella’s lips barely moved. The words came out hardly more than a whisper. “I’m going to see you again.” Then she nodded to Shura and followed her down the slope of the hill. They were picked up by a group of yakuza a few hours later and spirited straight to a private airport. By the next afternoon, Shura and Ella were on a plane flying over the Sea of Japan. By that evening, Ella was in the heart of Genjix country.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
I like to think that Ella and I have succeeded. I have achieved my goals, and have provided Ella with a path to hers. The journey to this outcome may not have been anticipated or even desired, but the reward cannot be disputed.
I have regained my standing with the Quasing and am now responsible for our salvation. Ella is alive and prospering, and has access to a life she could only have dreamed of. One day, I am sure she will see the wisdom in all that I have done.
For now, I am content with where I am and insist on remaining with this vessel.
Io, Vessel debriefing to Genjix Internal Affairs after Ella Patel’s defection in Tokyo. Summary judgment leading to allowing Holy One to remain with the vessel. Forced transfer deemed unnecessary as of this time.
Roen had been arrested many times in his life, and getting arrested by the Japanese was by far the politest and most pleasant of those experiences. When police reinforcements found them shortly after the Genjix escaped, they were whisked directly to the hospital, where they were treated and seen to humanely for several days. Roen even got fitted for new dentures. Then they were escorted to the cleanest prison cells he had ever seen.
Roen was put in a cell with the nicest old geezer he could ask for in a cellmate. The guy was ex-yakuza, so the two of them had a lot to talk about. It was a good thing Ohta belonged to another family, or he would have been obligated to try to kill Roen in his sleep, he had said. Roen wasn’t sure if Ohta was joking or not. He decided not to pry.
He spent much of his time sleeping, got caught up on his reading, and even took up calligraphy. During the day, he played games and ping pong, and sang karaoke at night. All in all, Roen’s stay in prison was all sorts of pleasant.
His vacation ended two weeks later. Roen was taking his post-lunch nap when there was a polite knock on his cell door. The door being made of iron, the knocking reverberated through the cell. It still took half a dozen polite knocks for him to stir.
He sat up, stretched his arms toward the ceiling and turned his torso back and forth. He stood up, patted his cellmate on the shoulder as he wedged past him, and waved at the officer who was looking at him through the open slit.
“Good afternoon, Souta.”
The guard bowed, so deep that his head disappeared from view. “You have visitors, Roen-san.”
The cell door unlocked with a deep, hollow thunk, and then rattled as it slid open. Roen adjusted his food-stained shirt. Other than the very nice doctor who made sure he didn’t keel over, he had very few visitors. Whoever was visiting him now was probably a government official or attorney, or if he was lucky his favorite person in the world.
Today was his lucky day.
The prize behind door #1 opened to reveal Jill Tesser Tan, standing with her hands sternly resting at her hips. If she was happy to see him, it didn’t show on her face. Roen grinned from ear to ear and gave her an enthusiastic double five-finger-spread-out wave. “Hi honey, thanks for bailing me out.” Then he noticed the large entourage of old men standing behind her. “Who are your friends?”
Jill started from left to right. “This is the United States Deputy Secretary of State, Admiral of the Seventh Fleet, Japanese Minister of Internal Affairs, Minister of Defense, the Deputy IXTF director…” The list went on and on. By the time she was finished, Roen was pretty sure they could hold their own summit right here in his cell.
“All that for me?” he finally said.
“That’s what it took to get you out of jail,” she snapped. “Come with me.”
“Hang on,” he said, hurrying back into his cell. “Let me say goodbye and get my calligraphy.”
“Your what?”
Roen didn’t bother trying to explain. He retrieved his drawings, gave Ohta one last bro-hug, shook Souta’s hand, and left the cell for the last time. As he was being escorted out of the wing, several inmates shouted their farewells. Some told him to visit when he got the chance. Others offered to visit him once they got out. That one glance Jill shot him was enough to know to keep from extending that invitation.
They entered a holding room, where Jill thanked and shook hands with all the dignitaries and officials. It took a little longer for all of them to say goodbye than one would think, since every single one of these people wanted a photo op with her. Although she was retired, Jill was still one of the most important and powerful people in the world.
When they were finally alone, she whirled on him. Before he could say a word, Roen’s wife threw herself in his arms and gave him a bone-crunching embrace.
He hugged her back, with reservation. “Ribs still cracked,” he croaked sharply while his mouth was buried in her hair.
After a solid five minutes of the best hug he ever had, Jill pulled back and gave him the eye. She glanced at his chest and poked. “Is this the cracked rib?”
“No,” he replied. That was the wrong answer.
She poked him again. “Right there?”
Roen bit his lip. That one was a little closer. A wince nevertheless escaped. “Maybe.”
She poked once more. “Serves you right for starting an international crisis.”
“The mission got a little wild,” he admitted, taking his wife’s hands, mainly because he liked holding them, but also to make sure she didn’t poke him again.
“You were supposed to babysit Ella Patel,” she continued. “Not go traipsing off to a foreign country. You not only got tangled up with their organized crime, Roen, you also went to war with the police.”
“That was unintentional.”
“You were supposed to avoid the Genjix at all costs.”
“That couldn’t be helped.”
“You attacked a military base.”
He held up a finger. “Technically, civilian defense.”
Jill jabbed him in the ribs again. “You could have gotten killed, damn it.”
“What about you?” he said def
ensively. “You didn’t tell me you were going to go off and retire the second I took a mission.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you comparing my retirement to nearly kicking off World War IV in a neutral country?”
“Hardly World War IV,” he muttered. Then for the first time, Roen noticed the tightness around Jill’s eyes. A tsunami of guilt washed over him. He was an inconsiderate idiot. She had probably thought him hurt or dead. Thought of him lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding out from a gunshot wound or a heart attack or falling down the stairs. At his age, all of those were equally likely to kill him.
“I’m sorry, hon.” His voice broke. “You’re right. I got carried away. I should have called for backup or help or anything. I was just a few steps behind Ella the whole way, and thought I could do it.” He bowed his head. “I thought I still had it.”
“Oh Roen, you big lug,” said Jill, embracing him. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“See, I told you I didn’t need the retrieval team.”
She smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “That’s because you were already in jail by the time they arrived, dummy. The retrieval team wasn’t dumb enough to try to break you out.”
“I would have.”
“Cameron was planning on it if I couldn’t secure your release,” she admitted. “Like father, like son.”
“He’s a good boy.”
They stayed there for a while longer, swaying together as if dancing to a silent song, letting their hearts beat together in rhythm. Roen cupped the back of her head, blew away the stray wisps of hair, now mostly gray with just streaks of brown.
He thought about the decades they had been together, and how the world around them changed, and how they had changed with it. They were unrecognizable now. The world they had lived in when they first met was long gone. Yet through it all, Roen had loved Jill, and she had loved him. No matter how far apart they were, no matter how difficult things got, or how perilous and hopeless the situation became, their love for each other was always there, always strong. It may have been tested, but their love had never broken.
Jill transitioned from their embrace and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Let’s go home.”
Roen rested his arm on her shoulder, and they walked toward the exit. They leaned on each other as they strolled through the prison hallways. Roen waved at the guards, shook hands with the warden, and gave knowing stares to a few hard-looking men practicing aikido in the play yard.
“I taught them a thing or two,” he said smugly.
“I’m sure you did, dear.”
A black car was waiting for them outside the prison. Roen looked back one last time before getting inside. As he climbed in the back, he noticed the reinforced windows and armored lining, the overlapping plating on the floor designed to protect against bombings. This wasn’t just a normal ride, so he wasn’t too surprised to find two familiar and not necessarily welcome faces sitting across from him.
He waved at the one on the left. “Hi, Liesel.”
Jill’s long-time assistant – now former assistant – offered him a curt nod. Liesel never really cared for him. Tolerated him more like it. “Roen.”
He turned to the person sitting next to her. “Hi, Angie. Congrats on your promotion. How’s your first few weeks on the job?”
Angie – the new Keeper – did not return the warm greeting. “Off to a rough start, thanks to you. Nothing like a crisis to kick off an administration.”
“Thank you for taking time away from your busy schedule to see me get released from prison,” he said cheerfully.
“This isn’t a social call,” she replied curtly. “We need–”
“How are the rest of my people?” he asked.
Irritation flashed on the new Keeper’s face. She looked as if she were going to dress him down, but changed her mind. “They’re all out. Hekla and her team are rotating off the line for the next three months. Josie is recuperating in a hospital in Sydney. She’s already filed her retirement papers. You’re the last one, Roen.”
“Good. What about Tarfur and Nabin?”
“Tarfur was sent back to Finland. Nabin’s been in cold storage ever since your arrest. We’ve made arrangements to have him flown back to his family in Atlanta.”
Roen nodded solemnly. “I’ll need to write letters to their families.”
Angie shook her head. “That will not be possible or appropriate. You are not even supposed to be here, Roen.”
“But I’m–”
This time she did cut him off. “Shut up, Roen. We have more important things to worry about than condolences.”
He had known Angie since she was a little girl. She had never been the warm and fuzzy type to begin with. She was probably even colder and even less fuzzy now that the Keeper had regained her position as the leader of the Prophus. There was also the fact that the Keeper hated Roen’s guts, and the feeling was mutual.
He crossed his arms and leaned back. “I see you’ve inherited the Keeper’s sunny disposition. Very well, what’s on your mind, mighty Keeper?”
“I trust you did not reveal anything to the Japanese authorities,” said Liesel.
Roen snorted. “Come on, I’m a professional. Ex-professional.”
“If you can call it that,” muttered Angie. She gave a start and withered under Jill’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Jill.”
“I trained you better than that, Keeper,” said Jill.
Roen couldn’t help admiring how beautiful his wife looked, and sounded. God, he loved that woman.
“We need to know what happened to the girl,” said Liesel. “This Ella Patel.”
“She went with the Genjix voluntarily.” Roen became thoughtful. “I’m not sure, but she may have done so only to save our lives. Shura and the yakuza were about to execute us. She made a deal with them to let us live in exchange for her cooperation.”
Angie cursed. “Do you know where the girl is now?”
“Probably in the heart of Genjix territory. Way out of our reach,” shrugged Roen. “Why, what’s her significance?”
Angie exchanged glances with Jill, who nodded, and then signaled to Liesel. “Show him.”
Liesel brought out her tablet and pulled up several files. She handed it to Roen. “It took a while to piece everything together, but we finally found out what the Bio Comm Array does, and how it works. We also uncovered what it has to do with Io.”
Roen skimmed the report. His eyes widened as he handed it back to Liesel. He whistled and put his arm around Jill’s shoulders. “Well, it looks like you have your work cut out for you over the next few years. I for one am really glad I’m retired. Good luck!”
Shura stepped through the outer gate of the abandoned estate and scanned the premises. It was quiet, peaceful. A little itch in the back of her head told her this would be the perfect place for an ambush. If it were her, she would put a shooter to her right behind the parking structure, one in the second-story window directly above the main entrance – for additional cover – and the last in the thickets to her left where the ground sloped downward. The ground there formed a tiny ravine that became a stream after rain. Shura used to play Genjix agent there as a little girl.
It was a lifetime ago. Back when she went by another name, one that she hadn’t dared use since her parents had died. No, they were killed, murdered by their rivals. It had taken most of her life, but the deed was done. She had avenged them after all these years. Setting foot back onto her homeland was a sign of her triumph and revenge. Walking through the front gates of her ancestral home was just a victory lap.
Today, Shura not only claimed Russia as her territory within the Genjix, she had also reclaimed her name. She could finally be Alexandra Mengsk again. “I am home, papa,” she said quietly. “Finally free to be my true self. I will reclaim our family’s glory, and then I will take it to heights greater than we could ever dare dream.”
Are you done?
“I am just getting started.”
“Let me have this, Tabs.”
Shura entered the main building, past the large double doors with her family’s emblem, the paint long since flaked off, and into the foyer. She was greeted by the twins, two massive staircases that curved to the second floor. As a child, she had spent hours gazing from the top banister, waiting for her papa to come home after his many business trips. He would always bring gifts, exotic treasures from other parts of the world. She looked up at the ceiling. The giant chandelier she had nicknamed the Glass Moon as a child was gone, probably fallen or stolen over the decades.
Shura toured the decrepit mansion, stepping into her memories back when times were simpler and her worries less lethal. She walked through the overlarge dining room with the long dining table where her mama would host dinner parties. The back courtyard with the garden and the fountain, where the statue of a Cossack stood ready, his curved sword pointing toward the sky. The shooting gallery where Shura had first learned to shoot at the age of four.
She continued back inside the mansion and up one of the twins. She stepped through her bedroom, which was actually three smaller rooms linked together. Her bed was still there, at least the frame. The canopy had caved in years ago, and rats had eaten most of the rest. Her tea set and small tables mostly now rested in tiny shattered pieces. Some of her dolls remained, although they all looked more like decayed corpses than a little girl’s best friends.
Last, Shura went to her father’s study, the true heart of the home and the place where he had run his financial empire, hosted cigar sessions with government officials, where he had strategized with other high-ranking Genjix. She stood in the middle of the room and spun in a slow circle.
This was a place filled with fond memories. That torn high-back chair in the corner was where he used to read to her before she went to bed. The small table next to the wall of bookshelves was where he taught her to play chess. She had written her first sonata lying on her belly on the rug next to the fireplace.